First Impressions
by AtlantisGirl12
Summary: Eames and Arthur's history, from Eames' pov. NO SLASH! Does contain a good bit of angst, because it's me writing it. :D


**A/N: Yet another fic! I wrote this one late last night, but didn't post it because I was having fights with the ending. :P This one is for Feathered Filly, whose reviews continue to push me to write more! I hope I did the guys' relationship justice! :\ And thanks also to my little sister, Stargazer12, who proofreads my stories and gives me suggestions. The title was her idea. :) **

**Oh yes, actual disclaimer here! I do not own Inception or the Ocean's 11 quote that is in this fic. :) **

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**First Impressions**

The first time he had seen Arthur, the kid was a skinny little twig in secondhand jeans and a t-shirt. Yeah, yeah, the kid protested that he was 21, but with his slim build and boyish features, he looked younger. Much younger. Eames didn't know what Cobb saw in the new guy. Arthur was positively _boring_. Absolutely no imagination at all. Eames had laughed the first time the kid went into a dream—the dreamscape was nothing more than a tiny cottage on some green hills.

Cobb had said nothing, only encouraged Arthur to see what he could do with the dream. All he did was add a lake, some trees, wildflowers…pussy stuff. Eames had rolled his eyes at the time, beginning to think of climbing a tree and throwing himself off a tree limb just for the excitement of a kick.

"That kid will never amount to anything," he argued with Cobb. "What on earth did you hire him for?"

"He has potential," Cobb said in his quiet way. "Remember how it was your first time."

Eames did remember. He had screamed like a girl the first time he died in a dream, the victim of the violent wrath of Mal's sub-conscious. Just because he was practicing his alluring female persona didn't mean that Cobb's wife had to go crazy jealous.

"I can't control the projections," she had said afterwards.

Yeah right.

The second time Arthur left reality was better, but only because they went into Eames' dream. Nightclubs, casinos—nothing boring about this one.

"Dare you to destroy that casino," Eames taunted Arthur with a sly grin.

Dom started to caution his newest team member but decided against it. Everyone had to learn sometime. Arthur turned to the forger and looked him in the eye. Eames felt himself falter when he saw those chocolate-brown orbs studying him as if to say, _You don't believe that I can do it. But I can. _There was depth to those eyes; they were the look of a man who had seen enough to last a lifetime.

And so Arthur had done it. Eames had watched in awe as the casino's neon lights exploded into a startling display of fireworks as the steel structure crumbled to the ground. The projections had attacked soon afterwards. If he was honest with himself, the forger would admit to gloating more than a little bit as his sub-conscious descended upon poor, hapless Arthur.

He and Cobb awoke after that to find the younger man gasping and sweating.

"It's just a dream," Cobb explained calmly. "The projections attack when they sense an alien presence in the host's mind." He placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You okay?"

The kid drew in a shuddering breath and composed himself. "Yeah, I'm good."

Eames was about to say a rude comment but stopped when Arthur glanced up at him. The smirk that had been playing on the forger's lips disappeared when he saw the glint in his counterpart's eye. Something told him that this kid had been kicked around too much already.

Eames had left soon after that, while Cobb continued to train his newest addition. The kid had spunk—Eames would give him that—but not much else. He looked like a slight breeze would bowl him over and the shadows always present in his eyes made Eames believe that the kid would always be crippled by whatever his past held.

Six months had passed before Eames saw the two again. Mal was on an indefinite sabbatical, now having two children to take care of at home. He met Dom and Arthur in London, a bit perturbed that the new job's location was in the hometown he had sworn to forget. Still, money was money, no matter where or what you had to do to get it.

"Simple smash and grab job, eh?" He greeted Cobb.

The man gave a pained grimace at the cavalier words. Dom liked to think of extraction in terms of finesse and art, rather than stealing. No matter. It was all the same at the end of the day. Eames turned at the sound of approaching footsteps to see a slim young man in a three-piece suit, hair slicked back and an unreadable expression on his face. Arthur? Eames allowed him a cool appraisal. Look who wanted to join the big time. He'd see about that.

"Whoa, what happened to you, kid? Just come from a funeral?"

Arthur gave him a hard stare. "I'm the point man," he said as if that explained everything.

Eames narrowed his eyes. Cobb's right hand man then, eh? He scowled inwardly at the twinge of jealously he felt in his gut. Deep down he knew that as a forger, he wasn't cut out to be Cobb's second in command. Even if he had known the extractor far longer than this twit. He crossed his arms as Arthur outlined the mark. Against his will, he felt a grudging respect forming for the new point man. It was obvious the kid knew his stuff. Unfortunately, his growing tolerance must have shown on his face; out of the corner of his eye he saw Cobb giving him a knowing smirk.

He'd never live this down.

The job went well, though the mark proved to be tougher than expected. Eames reluctantly realized that without Arthur's research they never would have gotten the information. But he didn't have to like him any…the kid still had no imagination.

They parted ways once again and Eames didn't hear from the Cobbs or Arthur for several years, except for the annual letters from Mal. Even those stopped coming eventually. He jumped from place to place, never settling in one city for very long. The only thing he looked for was a good gambling house and a bar that he could drown in. He was in Madrid, busy working to see the bottom of a bottle of sherry when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Arthur. It had been several years since he'd last set eyes on the point man, but apparently the kid had kept the suit and tie look. Bloke was beginning to become a regular stick in the mud.

"Mal's dead, Eames."

There it was. No hello, no how d'you do, just the naked truth. The words sent him reeling more than his bottle of liquor ever did.

"How?" He asked shakily.

"Suicide." Arthur hesitated and Eames could see dark emotion swirling in those brown depths. "They…they're blaming Cobb, Eames."

The forger stared up at him, still unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "When's the funeral?"

"Saturday."

And so they flew to the States, neither of them saying much to the other. They joined Cobb for the service a few days later. It scared even Eames to see his old friend so destroyed over his wife's death. He knew the rumors that Cobb had murdered Mal couldn't be true, but the extractor wasn't giving any details, preferring to wrestle alone with whatever happened.

Cobb had fled shortly thereafter, unable to clear his name. Eames and Arthur went with him to Paris, partly because they were afraid he might do something to himself, but mostly because they didn't have anywhere to go either. Three peas in a pod, Eames joked to himself bitterly.

He and Arthur were alone in the hotel room a month later, Cobb having gone out on another one of his missions to find a job. It was a dreary day to be out, what with the rain pelting the windows, Eames thought to himself.

"I'm going in for a bit," Arthur stated, pushing away from the window where he had been watching the rain.

Eames glanced up from where he was playing solitaire. "Have fun then." He watched as Arthur deftly inserted the IV and closed his eyes.

With Arthur 'gone' the room seemed strangely empty. Eames tossed his cards away with a sigh after a few minutes of hearing the machine hiss. He leaned back in his chair and studied Arthur's sleeping face. A chance to get into the kid's head? Too good to pass up. He lay down on the other bed and put the other IV into the crook of his arm.

Opening his eyes, Eames discovered himself in the same dreamscape Arthur had created the first time he went under.

"You got to be kidding me," Eames muttered to himself. Oh well. Maybe he could spruce it up a bit. He went over to where he saw Arthur leaning against the side of the cottage.

"Eames," Arthur said without opening his eyes.

"Arthur." Eames joined him on the ground and gazed out over the landscape. He had to admit, looking at the lake and the rolling green hills, it was rather peaceful. Still…he conjured a bottle of whiskey. "Fancy a drink, old boy?"

Arthur glanced at the bottle and hesitated before nodding his agreement. Eames passed him the bottle. He smirked to see Arthur wince at the burn the whiskey left in his throat. Light-weight.

Arthur turned the bottle in his hands. "Can't believe she's gone."

Eames looked sideways at him, a little surprised to hear him speak. Their relationship wasn't exactly a basketful of roses.

"Were you…around, you know, at the end?" Eames was curious.

Arthur nodded. "I was watching the kids that night. They were going to celebrate their anniversary." He sucked in a breath. "I knew she was having some trouble, ever since she and Cobb went into limbo together—"

Eames cut him off. "They went into limbo?"

"Yeah…I don't know anything else about it, so don't even ask," he cut off the questions forming on Eames' lips. He looked out at the lake and took another drink. "She…." His voice trailed off.

Eames joined him in taking a few more drinks, they both having an unspoken need to drown their memories. Quite a few drinks later found them both slouching, shoulders nearly touching.

"She was the most sophisticated woman I knew," Eames said, his words slurring just slightly. "And she could play poker." His eyes grew distant with memory. "Boy, could she play poker."

"I never knew a kinder person," Arthur stated quietly.

Eames rolled his head to the side and a caught a glimpse of Arthur's eyes. Where before he could never read them, now the shutters were down, leaving the emotion plain to see: pain, sorrow…fear.

In an instant, he realized that it wasn't just Cobb who had lost something precious. He and Arthur had lost the only thing in their lives that was good and decent. He remembered the time Mal had invited him for Christmas, knowing he had no one to share it with. It was the first and last time he did so, not for lack of trying on her part, but for his inability to let go of the past and start afresh. She remained undaunted by his refusals, always sending him a card inviting him to visit. When they had stopped—he guessed it was when things started to go downhill for her then—he had felt an emptiness he hadn't felt in a long time.

Looking at Arthur, he guessed he felt the same way. Mal had that way about her, always wanting to take in strays. Reaching over, he tugged on Arthur's already loosened tie. "She do this to you?"

Arthur's hand unconsciously smoothed the fabric. "She said it would make me more distinguished. More like a point man." He ran a hand over his slicked back hair as if embarrassed.

"Suits you."

They were silent for a moment, passing the bottle back and forth between them.

"Why this place?"

Arthur looked at him startled at the question's abruptness even with his alcohol-fogged mind. He didn't answer for a long moment. "I've dreamed this place since I was a kid," he said finally. "It was always my safe place. I came here often, especially when things got…rough."

Eames could hear the past behind those words and his insatiable curiosity longed to ask. He would, before. But here, in this place, asking such things seemed wrong.

"What's so bad about London?"

Apparently Arthur had no such qualms.

"How did you—"

"You drank and brooded more there."

Of course. Details. "Mum died there." He could see the answer didn't satisfy Arthur, but the younger man didn't ask him any more. They sat in silence then, each thinking their own thoughts until the dream ended.

When they awoke, Arthur had his mask carefully in place and Eames his armor of sarcasm. They never spoke again of what occurred. The forger left again shortly thereafter, not to return again until the day Cobb asked him to help with inception. He agreed; for all his nonchalance, he was eager to be a part of something that was as close to a family as he could get.

He nodded to Arthur when he saw him again; the kid hadn't changed much since the last time he had seen him. Eames amused himself in poking fun at the solemn point man, and Arthur gave as good as he got. Dom, Yusuf, and the new girl, Ariadne, all thought the two had some kind of feud going on, that they hated each other's guts. But Eames and Arthur knew better. For all of their jabs and insults, there was respect between them now.

Now, Eames reflected as he studied the point man who was leaning back in his chair reading notes. Maybe the kid had changed. Underneath the obvious exterior changes—suit, slicked back hair—there were still shadows in his eyes. From what, Eames would probably never know. But there was something more now. An edge to his posture that said whatever haunted him, he wasn't going to let it define him. Eames nodded to himself. Walking past Arthur's precariously leaning chair, he gave it a hard shove. As the point man toppled over with a curse, Eames grinned to himself. Maybe he could work with the ol' stick in the mud after all.

**A/N: And there it is! I hope I didn't mangle the characters...I'm worried about the "heart-to-heart" Eames and Arthur had...if it seems to OC, my excuse is that they were drunk. ;) I also didn't explain all the little tidbits about Eames' and Arthur's pasts...maybe I'll write another fic about that (NOTE: this story, as far as Arthur goes, is not in the same universe as Vincit Qui Se Vincit, although I may put some ideas from here into that fic). Anyway, sorry for all the long author's notes...I can't seem to stop talking after I post stories! :D **

**As always, please review and send me requests/prompts if you wish! **


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